


Stay with You

by grantairas



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairas/pseuds/grantairas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras tells Grantaire a story when he can't fall asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay with You

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize if there are any mistakes even after rereading this about a hundred times. i hope you like it. :))

Grantaire hadn’t really expected to fall asleep when he left the others an hour or so ago. But then at least he considered it a possibility. Now, with Courfeyrac’s shouting and Bossuet’s laughing, he knows he'll be awake until they all leave. Even that wasn’t likely, considering what had happened the last time; Courfeyrac had forgotten Grantaire was spending the night in his room and had dragged Jehan in there with him, and they all ended up in the same bed, which meant a night with Jehan’s arm thrown around him and Courfeyrac talking in his sleep.

Grantaire sighs and flips over. Outside the door the card game they had started grows even louder and he can’t tell one voice from another. Covering his ears with the pillow doesn’t work, so he gives up. He could’ve stayed, maybe had an intelligent conversation with Combeferre to pass the time, but he had a headache and it wasn’t like he wanted to participate anyway. Staring up at a ceiling in an apartment that wasn’t his on a mattress that wasn’t his was equally entertaining.

As he’s debating whether to climb out the window, he notices the light coming in from the crack under the door is blocked. Whoever’s standing there doesn’t come in right away, and they don’t speak either, so Grantaire can’t tell who it is. He stares at the door for a few seconds longer before realizing he doesn’t care. There’s no one he’d want to see now, so he turns onto his side and closes his eyes to feign sleep.

It’s still a minute longer before the door creaks open. Bright light and noise floods in, but Grantaire doesn’t react. He listens intently to the gentle footsteps and the quiet click as the door shuts.

“Grantaire?”

He stays as still as possible. He’s starting to get curious about who the hoarse whisper came from when the person says his name again.

“Grantaire? You’re asleep?” He speaks a bit louder this time, and Grantaire knows. He turns slowly and does his best job of looking like he was woken up.

“Hi, Enjolras.” He sits up to look at him. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. You can go back to sleep, I’ll just go-”

“No, don’t go.” Grantaire realizes how desperate he sounds and fakes a laugh to make up for it. “I wasn’t really asleep. Just pretending.”

Enjolras tilts his head, which is ridiculously endearing and makes Grantaire bite his lip to keep from smiling. “Why were you pretending? You can’t sleep?”

“Not with all the noise,” he answers. “But I haven’t gotten a decent amount of sleep in a while, so it’s no surprise.”

Something in Enjolras face changes then; he looks almost sad. He steps closer to the edge of the mattress and asks, “Can I sit down?”

Grantaire nods before Enjolras has finished the question. The shift of the mattress under Enjolras’ weight is maddening enough, until he leans forward and smiles.

“I kind of thought you wouldn’t be able to sleep so... so I brought something.”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows, vehemently denying in his mind that Enjolras could mean anything close to what he thinks he means. “And?”

“Well, I’m kind of embarrassed, because I feel like you’re going to laugh...” His voice trails off and he looks down at his hands in his lap.

“I won’t laugh,” Grantaire says softly. He’s almost forgotten about the party on the other side of the door, until he hears glass breaking and Eponine yelling something unintelligible, followed by Bossuet's booming laughter.

Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice. He meets Grantaire’s eyes again and murmurs, “I wrote you a story.”

Grantaire just blinks, unsure of how to react. He tries to picture Enjolras sitting down to write something other than an extensive essay on French history, but he can’t get past the adorably fervent hope in Enjolras’ eyes now as he waits for a response. He smiles proudly when Grantaire says, “So, let me read it.”

“It’s not for you to read. I’m going to tell it to you. Maybe it’ll help you get to sleep.”

Maybe it is an essay on French history then. Grantaire ignores the thought and focuses instead on the way Enjolras’ face is practically radiating with excitement. “Okay.”

“Well,” Enjolras laughs awkwardly. “Lie down.”

If it does end up being a historical essay, Grantaire decides he will replay Enjolras saying those two words over and over again instead. He leans back and curls up with his hands folded under the pillow, like he always does, and keeps his eyes on Enjolras. He waits patiently for the story to start, but Enjolras hesitates.

“I spent a lot of time on this,” he admits, eyes darting away. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Grantaire smiles and nods. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to focus anyway, with Enjolras so close to him, but he doesn’t mind. He wants to remember this, the way Enjolras shyly comes closer and faces Grantaire with his gentle eyes. He clears his throat and begins, “Once upon a time-”

Grantaire forgets what he had said about not laughing, and finds himself nearly out of breath with Enjolras glaring down at him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, continue.”

Enjolras sighs and repeats himself. “Once upon a time, there was a boy...”

Grantaire stares up at Enjolras steadily. He can’t help but be mesmerized, with the streetlights shining through the window and illuminating his profile, his golden hair, the slow and deliberate way his lips move with every word. It’s the first time in a long time he’s spoken without a group of people gathered around him to listen. For once, he’s speaking only to Grantaire, on a tiny mattress shoved into the corner of a room that Grantaire had almost forgotten was Courfeyrac’s.

"The boy had a happy life, with friends he loved and who loved him back. They all knew they were going to change the world, because they believed they could and nothing could stop them.”

Grantaire can’t help but roll his eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

He gets another sharp glare from Enjolras. “It gets better, I promise,” he whispers, and the feeling of his fingertips trailing across Grantaire’s cheek is enough to shut him up.

“So, anyway, the friends never doubted each other or the cause they were fighting for. Especially the boy, because he cared so much about the cause that sometimes he saw almost nothing else, until one day he met someone he couldn’t ignore. This someone was very different from all his other friends, and at first the boy wasn’t sure he liked that very much. It was the first time he had someone there who questioned him, who disagreed with him, who seemed to love making fun of his beliefs just to make him angry. He didn’t have a reason to come to the meetings, since he apparently thought they were pointless, but he was there at every one. Every time, he’d say something to make the boy yell, and in response he’d just smile in that strange bitter way of his. If this had been anyone else, the boy wouldn’t have let him come back. But the new friend- we can call him the cynic from now on- had something about him the boy had never seen before, and that’s why he let him stay.”

“Is it my beautiful eyes?” Grantaire questions, smiling up at Enjolras. “My charming sense of humor?”

“Shh.” Enjolras pokes him in the ribs. Grantaire can tell he’s trying not to grin back at him.

“Every time the boy saw the cynic, it became a little more clear to him why he hadn’t given up on him yet. Because even if he didn’t want to fight for the cause, even if he never had anything positive to say about it, the way he countered the boy made him realize how smart and eloquent and thoughtful he was.” Enjolras slowly pulls the sheets back and moves to lie down beside Grantaire. He lays his head on the pillow, blonde hair falling over his eyes. When Grantaire instinctively reaches out to brush it away, Enjolras takes his hand and holds it against his cheek.

“As much as the boy tried to fight it, he couldn’t deny that the cynic was becoming important to him.” He pauses to kiss Grantaire’s palm. “And it wasn’t just because of his intelligence or his way with words, or, yes, his beautiful eyes. Enjol- I mean the boy, wanted to make his cynic as happy as he could. But first, he’d have to tell him how he felt.” Grantaire slides closer to Enjolras so they’re chest to chest, and Enjolras doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch. Somehow that makes Grantaire happier than touching him.

Under the sheet, he feels Enjolras’ hand slip up underneath his shirt, resting on his waist. His breath catches at how close they are suddenly, that it’s real, and that Enjolras is pushing him onto his back so he can straddle his waist.

“The end,” he trills, his fingers splayed against Grantaire’s chest and tugging at the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He smiles as he leans down to kiss him. “Was that a satisfactory bedtime story?”

Grantaire barely gets out a yes when the door flies open. Courfeyrac stands in the doorway, Jehan sleepily draped over his back. Enjolras looks over his shoulder at them and raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Courfeyrac grins and Jehan peeks from behind him to smile knowingly at Grantaire. They stumble back out the door, slamming it loudly behind them. Enjolras turns back to Grantaire and shrugs.

“Maybe we should give him his room back?” He runs his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, smiling softly at him. He reminds Grantaire of an angel then.

“Courfeyrac won’t mind, I’m sure.” He wraps his arms around Enjolras’ narrow waist and pulls him down so his face is buried in his neck and his breathless laughter warms his skin. “Stay with me?”

Enjolras presses a kiss to his jaw, making Grantaire sigh. “Of course,” he murmurs.

They find each other’s hands under the sheets, intertwining their fingers. Grantaire smiles up at the ceiling until he feels Enjolras give him one more soft kiss on the cheek.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night.”


End file.
